


Harry Potter and the Course of Destiny

by HelloTroggy



Series: Wizarding World Saga [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Battle of Hogwarts, Canon Continuation, Coming of Age, F/M, Hermione's 7th Year, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloTroggy/pseuds/HelloTroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt decreed that all witches and wizards who defended Hogwarts against the forces of He Who Must Not Be Named are welcomed into the ranks of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as Aurors. Harry is happy to accept a position but faces conflict when his personal, academic, and professional needs do not mesh. Join Harry as he grows in this canonical continuation of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_The past is present and the future is yet to been seen..._

Prologue 

The ground quakes with the an unearthly force that threatens the footing he has gained. The sky is alight with hell’s fire and it is as if it will suddenly open with the Wrath of God to judge the world. The stench of carrion, burning foliage, and dust fills his lungs and makes his eyes weep in an effort to clear his vision so he can behold the carnage around him. But who would desire clarity when fuzziness grants a reprieve from the war torn ruin around him. Truly, the Boy Who lived would rather be dead.

Harry Potter sits bolt right up in his bed. Still crying from the images his subconscious rendered to torture him. He clutches his knees to his chest and vibrates from the emotional energy still pent inside him, his entire body crying when his eyes refuse. There is a thunderstorm lashing at his window with all its fury; nights like these seem to attract his nightmares. Other nights, when sleep is able to take him, there is only the repetitive, unending parade of those he had lost at Hogwarts and even before then. Harry exhales and counts backwards in an attempt to soothe his psyche and coax his soul to rest. 


	2. Familiarity and Challenge

Sunlight breeches the window blinds as Harry rises from sleep. The sweats brought on by the fear in his subconscious causes his pajamas and bedsheets to stick to his body. He peels his body from the bed and fumbles to the bathroom for a cleansing shower. This routine had made life easier for Harry; monotony and schedules were his haven from reality. This morning was no different. Shower, breakfast, dress, and work. Same old, same old.

After the Battle, the ministry appointed Kingsley Shacklebolt as the Acting Minister of Magic. Within weeks of acquiring this position, Shacklebolt decreed that any witch or wizard who fought for the defense of Hogwarts would be welcomed into the Ministry as an Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry was one of the first in line, still bent on pursuing the dream he had had as a younger wizard.

It was an early August day and the tone in the air had started to shift as Summer gave way to Autumn. The green leaves of the trees had begun their twilight but held on to their branches, knowing that they still served the larger system. Harry inhaled deeply and looked up to the sky, slightly overcast but there was no sign of rain. On the exhale, he apparated and was in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic in London, many many kilometers from his home in Godric’s Hollow. The hum of activity around him was familiar and he allowed himself to be pulled with the tide of other witches and wizards reporting for the start of their day.

Upon arriving at his desk, a memo from the head of the department, Atticus McCulloch, arrived for him with a request that Harry come to his office before lunch on important business. Checking his appointment book informed him that he was free within the hour and he figured he should get the ordeal over with. On a fresh sheet of parchment, Harry responded with, “I’ll be there in 15, Regards H. Potter”. He folded and bewitched the page to fly to McCulloch’s office post-haste and gave his agenda the once over. The trials for captured Death Eaters had begun and so the process of convicting and sentencing, like so many others, was the main focus of his day. He slammed the bound scarlett leather book shut and exhaled harshly. Harry caught his reflection in the glass top surface of his desk; he did not look 18. Now facing himself and looking himself in his bright green eyes, he surely did not feel 18 years old.

Atticus McCulloch was an older wizard with a double chin, white-gray hair, critical eyes, a thin mouth, and a thick, bushy moustache that he curled at the ends. Not an unfriendly man but one that carried himself with a gruff demeanor of one who did not suffer fools lightly. His appointment had followed the inauguration of Shacklebolt as Minister and Harry could not think of a better wizard for the job. When Harry arrived at his office, Atticus made a noise that served as an invitation in but his focus remained at the growing pile of memo planes and scrolls that littered his desk. Harry cleared his throat and Atticus looked up with a heavy sigh. “Potter. I received an owl from Hogwarts this morning with the post.” he stated, not indulging in insincere pleasantries. “Minerva McGonagall wrote inquiring as to how the department was handling the Death Eaters, what Shacklebolt was doing to prepare the influx of new Aurors, and also asked how you were settling into your position, specifically. She said that it was a shame that you had not finished your seventh year and that it might be considered unseemly for a wizard of your talent to not have official N.E.W.T. scores.” he continued. Harry could see where this was going and he furrowed his eyebrows. Harry’s mouth quirked wryly and he responded calmly “So, I suppose this is about my declining to finish my final year of schooling?”. Atticus laced his fingers together and tapped his thumbs, locking his hazel gaze with Harry’s emerald. His mustache twitched in what could be called bemusement and he answered, “So it would seem. Frankly, I don’t give a damn if you return or if you stay here. Your position here is assured but I felt you should know that your former head of house had this concern. In the event you may have felt inclined to reconsider your decision.”

McGonagall’s letter and McCulloch’s words followed Harry as he donned his official robes for the trial scheduled in the next 15 minutes. The marks he had earned on his O.W.L.s were exceptional, and in addition to his service to the Wizarding World by defending Hogwarts had left him amply qualified for the position offered by the Department. Ron Weasley, his best friend of seven years, had taken the position without second thoughts or desires to return to school. Hermione Granger, Harry’s other best friend and Ron’s girlfriend, however had decided it would be best for her to finish with her final year of schooling, her being the brightest witch of their age with an insatiable appetite for learning made her choice in the matter easy. Harry, however, had made his decision to accept a position as an Auror; he now realized that this had not been well thought out and was the result of instinctive thinking. Now knowing that his position was secure and that a witch who Harry respected for her craft and as an educator had hinted that it might be best, Harry found himself second guessing his hasty decision. He buttoned the top button of his stark black robe and ran his fingers through his mop of black hair. Now was not the time to think about Hogwarts or himself. Now was the time to focus on his responsibilities to the department, the Ministry, and the world of magic.

While en route to the lifts to make the descent to the courtrooms in the dungeons, a familiar voice cried out “Hiya Harry!”. Harry turned to see a tall, gangly, ginger haired, and freckled wizard bounding down the hall to catch up to him so as to share the lift. Harry felt his pensive mood lift, slightly, at the sight of his best friend, Ron Weasley. A fellow Auror who would also be in attendance at today’s trial hearing. “Bloody hell! I’m still getting settled into my office and am so disorganized that I didn’t see the blasted memo for the hearing until a minute ago!” Ron said as he huffed from the exertion of bolting from his office. Ron began to straighten his robes, identical to Harry’s, in order to convey the austerity of the occasion and to look the part of an Auror, a ministry official who hunted and brought to justice those who practiced dark magic. The pair entered the lift and made small talk as the metal box dropped into the underbelly of the ministry. Ron informed Harry that Hermione was getting pre-term jitters in anticipation of her final year at Hogwarts. Ron’s oversized ears went pink as he also admitted that he had asked Hermione to move in with him in a flat in London and she had agreed, happily. Harry congratulated him and insisted on getting them a housewarming present. Ron’s ear went a deeper shade of pink and he started rambling to himself as to the sort of gift Harry should get when their ride ended.


	3. Pride & Punishment

The lowest levels of the Ministry of Magic were dedicated to wizarding justice with courtrooms set up like amphitheaters. Wall sconces lined a hallway made of a dark gray granite. Despite the provider of light being fire, there was a cold that ate through all layers of clothing in an attempt to settle into the bones of any poor soul who ventured that deep underground. This was what welcomed Harry and Ron as the doors of the lift opened.

 

Like the setting in which it was dispensed, Wizarding law and it's justice were cold. Shrewd. Impersonal. Today’s proceedings had to be as the Wizengamot would be deliberating the sentence of Death Eaters who had already been tried and found guilty of magical war crimes. Harry had been an integral part of the trials and had not long past been accepted into the ranks of the judges. Ron and Hermione had both been offered positions but both had found the responsibilities unappealing. Instead, both provided key testimony and had already done their parts to refill the cells of Azkaban. But as testimony had concluded, Ron’s desire to be present at this point was personal in nature. Today, the fate of the Malfoy family would be decided.

 

Harry pushed through the large, jet black doors of one of the largest courtrooms the dungeons possessed to reveal sheer mayhem. Those in attendance had not been limited to the judiciary members of the court or the accused. Almost fifty witches and wizards had come in anticipation of the announcement of one of the richest and oldest Pureblood families in their world. Lucius Malfoy stood proudly between his wife, Narcissa, and son Draco. He stared resolutely forward as though he were above the hubbub behind him and his family. Jeers came from the crowd, calling them filth and murderers among the tamer insults. But even still, there were those who also begged for leniency for the three, especially for the young Draco who had just turned 18 that summer. “He’s just a boy!” cried out a dark haired wizard with thick sideburns. A witch not far from him who was only just a touch older than Harry screamed back “He’s of age! He was man enough to do the bidding of You-Know-Who! He’s old enough to pay for what he’s done!”. It was at this the little color Draco ever possessed in his pale, sharp face drained and his eyes widened. Harry felt a pang of pity clench in his abdomen. They had never been friends nor had they been civil in their nearly eight years of knowing each other; but did that, or his actions during the war, mean Harry could agree to a sentence in a hell like Azkaban? The crowd of magical civilians simmered down as Harry’s form became visible in the entrance. With that, the hearing had begun

 

“Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, you have been found guilty as charged of conspiracy to murder, treason against the ministry, aiding and abetting the destruction of the property of muggles and muggle-borns and half-bloods alike, and for escaping from the prison Azkaban. Before the witches and the wizards of the Wizengamot begin deliberating your punishment, do you have anything you would like to say before the court?” recited the calm baritone of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic. His dark eyes were leveled on Lucius whose face was smooth but had started to betray the panic he was surely feeling. He had been a man who had been accustomed to getting his way, either by manipulation, extortion, bribery, or by sheer force of will. To see such a mighty man fall so low would have been heartbreaking had it not been for the sheer volume of misdeeds he had committed for the Dark Lord’s cause. His mouth trembled but did not part to allow any plea of mercy; his pureblood pride was an adhesive that he could not sunder. Kingsley inclined his head to acknowledge the man’s silence and then moved on to his wife, whose charges and guilt matched her mate, as did her prideful, spiteful silence. As he was seated three chairs to Kingsley’s right, Harry’s vantage allowed him to see his face; Narcissa’s silence and stubbornness elicited the faintest expression that was a mix of anger, dismay, and pity. The look accused the couple of being stubborn fools, an assessment to which Harry agreed but did not blind him from his sympathy for the accused. With Mother and Father gone, the last one to have their last words was Draco. The litany of his crimes was not so long as his parents but was none the less significant. When faced with the Minister’s offer, Draco broke apart from the ranks his parents had thought to establish. “I am 18 years old. I have lived those 18 years thinking that I’m better than most wizards, let alone Muggles. I have been taught that it is because of my heritage that I have the right to be above all others. These views remained unchallenged until recently, and they were proven false in the War… I do not know what may be done to satisfy my debt to our world but I ask that you bear what I’ve said in mind when you vote.” Draco’s voice shook, but not out of fear. The ashen pallor of his face betrayed that it was remorse that had unsettled the young man’s paradigm. Remorse for the loss of life, the destruction of lives and of property, and the scars left upon the collective Wizard conscious that his way of thinking had caused.

 

The silence that followed Draco’s statement was pregnant with suspense and tension. The Minister’s eyes creased slightly, he had seen something in that wizard that told him not all hope for change was gone. He cleared his throat and began in an authoritative tone “For the sentence of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. How does the Wizengamot vote on a term of two years in Azkaban?” The witches and wizards behind him pondered briefly but then a ripple of hands rose in an affirmative vote. It was a significant amount but he did not put the effort to observe if it was the majority required, instead the Minister’s gave turned to Harry Potter, whose had remained firmly in his lap. This would be a matter worth his time after the proceedings, the wizard decided. Kingsley’s secretary took a tally and wordlessly revealed the outcome. The minister nodded and declared unsurprised “So it shall be”. It was in this manner as well, and for the same duration, that Narcissa was condemned. Once again, Harry’s hand remained down. Shacklebolt wondered what could possibly be going through his mind, surely he did not believe that this family was innocent or that they ought not be punished. It was during the vote for Draco that he understood Harry’s reasoning. During this vote, not only did his hand remain in his lap but his eyes were locked with Draco’s. There was a communication between the two of them that said infinite things but chief among them was forgiveness. This was an olive branch, this was Harry investing in the rehabilitation of the flawed Pureblood ideology and their false belief in their superiority. It was then that Kingsley Shacklebolt realized change could be made but forgiveness and the relinquishing of pride would need to come first.

 

Ron did not ask why his best mate had done what he had done. He knew that, in all honesty, it was the right call to make. Though he himself was Pureblood, it had never meant much to him or his family when all was said and done. What had always mattered was doing right by others and yourself; if you did wrong, an admission of guilt was more important than taking the punishment that would follow, under Molly and Arthur’s roof. Ron knew that Lucius and Narcissa were not being punished for what they had done for He Who Must Not Be Named, they were being punished for their arrogance and their pride. Ron smirked to himself and followed Harry back to the elevator.

 

“That was it then” Harry remarked with an air of finality, “We’ve caught them all. We’ve tried them all.” His emerald eyes went to the ceiling of the lift and his hands ran through his hair, grasping for a goal or purpose in the years ahead. Surely another evil the likes of Lord Voldemort could never arise again. Right?


End file.
